


Breathing easier

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Podfic Available, Post-Movie(s), Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:19:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6637093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You make a choice, and then you live with it. Toast and one of the Vuvalini go scouting in the desert, some time after the events of Fury Road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathing easier

“There?” Toast asks, pulling her scarf down and pointing. She and Gilly have stopped their bikes on the crest of a dune, spyglasses out to check the terrain. It’s evening, cooler for travel. Toast is pointing to a low-lying rocky outcrop, red stone the colour of sand. No question, she’s got an eye for this. Gilly nods, and leaves her own scarf down long enough to exchange a smile. That’s rare enough for both of them.

The Vuvalini woman has never had much instinct for teaching. She can see that pupils need to work out the answer themselves, to understand it from the inside; in practice, she just wants to tell them and move on to the next thing. Keeper and Smith were always better at guiding students, but they’re not here, and she is. She gets on with it.

Life at the Citadel is strange, after decades in the desert. The rock walls are claustrophobic, smell of clammy air and too many bodies. They’re cleaning some of it, emptying out the Organic’s old blood shed and trying to improve ventilation, but there’s only so much they can do. Old Joe was vicious but efficient: once they’ve ripped down the cages, tried to make it clear that people are to be treated as people, the basic infrastructure is often sound. Keeping it is still unsettling. Brutality was built into Joe’s systems, so they’re walking a line between ditching one and keeping the other.

There’s so much to be taught, or to be cobbled together. She and Mel rack their brains for everything Keeper ever said about her precious seeds, every casual comment or obscure joke. She can see why their lost History Woman had tattooed herself. It’s the urge to make knowledge permanent, to hang on to the surviving fragments. Even that only lasts as long as the body. Miss Giddy died on the road, taking her markings and her knowledge with her. At least her girls remember such a lot of what she said. There’s no way of knowing what might be useful. 

Their crop knowledge is a desperate patchwork. When it comes to the new seeds, they’re relying on what the Citadel’s greenthumbs know, the few labels and remembered phrases from Keeper and a book on houseplants for beginners. The old wordburger has a list at the back, “Others in this series”, including one on planting vegetables. Cheedo had a full-on tantrum when she saw that, knowing that what the Dag needed had been written and lost, while they’re stuck with advice on pointless things called oleanders and dieffenbachias. They worked out what to do with the potatoes from a washed-out label and something Miss Giddy had told them about the Island Famine in the old world, a story about the callousness of rulers earlier than Joe. It’s a miracle it worked. They can’t rely on miracles.

As things settle down, Furiosa’s scars healing and her new prosthetic coming along nicely, the tension starts to ebb. If there are still battle lines drawn between certain groups of former Wretched and former War Boys, at least they know where they are and how to start negotiating. Things are growing; people have more to eat. If they have more energy for squabbles, they have it for new ideas.

This expedition is an experiment, and Gilly’s thankful for it. Out of the Citadel, she can breathe easier. It’s second nature to keep her lips closed and breathe through her nose, reducing dehydration, but it’s easier when she has clean desert air in her nostrils. 

And teaching is easier when she knows what she’s talking about. The Citadel’s crews have little experience in scouting. Joe sat on his resources and commanded the neighbourhood, rarely venturing beyond the triangle of Gas Town, the Bullet Farm and his own fortress. He’d sent raiding parties out for women and salvage, but most came through trade. Supply lines were kept short and tight. Even Furiosa, with Vuvalini memories to draw on, has limited experience of it. Her mad man brings news when he comes through. He’d be a good scout, if he could keep his head together. He’s steadier, these days, but Gilly guesses from the look of him that his wanderings are driven rather than exploratory.

Toast had been eager to try scouting: wants to learn everything, that one, especially if it helps her command her environment. She’s less angry, now she has somewhere to channel it, but she’s still full of unpredictable energy. When she meets with injustice, she might jump to intervene, or cynically shrug at how the world is. Either way, she’ll have a plan, know how many bullets she’s prepared to spend.

This is their second expedition, after practice runs and a first full attempt. They’ve pushed further across the wasteland, tracking their course with compasses, stars, the sun. Past Buzzard territory and the known settlements of rock riders, they’ve found abandoned towns, picked clean. When they pass other travellers – loners, small groups – they make cautious, wary trades. Water for seeds, for information. Toast is impatient, but learning to rein it in. You get what you pay for, mostly, and throwing your weight around doesn’t work so well after the first time.

Trading means less water in their loaded bikes, less time before they have to head back. Gilly sometimes thinks of heading out, keeping going, but there’s an obligation behind her. The desert might be calling, but she has no clan to support her out here. 

As it turns out, Toast’s eye is really good. When they reach the canyon, the last of the light is enough to show a splash of green and purple against the red ground, hidden behind the rock outcrop. When they get closer, they find creepers, putting out unlikely blossoms. “Bush potato,” says Gilly. The tubers won’t be ready, but there’s a source of food here. Maybe the Dag can work out if the soil is good enough to support regular potatoes or other crops; maybe Cheedo’s rummage through the library and discussions with blackthumbs have found ways of getting to underground water. Even without it, it’s the best discovery they’ve made, the best Gilly had made since long before Furiosa found them.

Toast already has her map out, a patch of cloth marked in ink, blood and oil. Gilly watches in approval as Toast scratches in location and time with her toothpick and engine grease. She’d learned mapmaking from Max, but had given up on blood after a lecture from Mel about sepsis and infection control. Max had heard it, too; Gilly wonders if he’s still pricking himself for ink, or if he’s started caring enough to look after himself. 

When she looks back at Toast’s map, she sees she’s drawn in a little flower, a lopsided picture of the purple blossom. It’s the first sentimental action Gilly’s seen from her, but the chance of healthy soil deserves it. If Keeper were here, she’d be digging out a seed and a skull to test it.

This discovery will be enough to send them home to the Citadel. Normally, they travel at night, resting in the heat of the day. It’s worth spending a night and a day here, scouting out the land in daylight, looking for signs of life or occupation, finding out how extensive the plant growth is. Gilly and Toast put up their shelter, unfurling fabric from the backs of the bikes and propping it into a canopy. 

“We can eat more tonight,” Gilly tells her. 

“That means drinking more,” Toast says, going back over a lesson learned: digestion requires water.

“We can afford to, if we’re going home tomorrow night,” Gilly replies. They can take more observations on the journey; if this canyon is to become a Citadel outpost, it’s worth establishing the best routes. When she looks up, she finds Toast smiling at her.

“You called it home,” she says. Gilly is surprised twice over: that she said it, that Toast noticed. Three times over: Toast is pleased. But it’s true, she’s eager to get back. She has no love for the fortress, but she wants to see the others, to pass on what they’ve learned. Getting out is freedom, but you have to go back to keep it.

**Author's Note:**

> Gilly and Mel are the Vuvalini played by Gillian Jones and Melita Jurisic.
> 
> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Breathing Easier](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12650544) by [frecklebombfic (frecklebomb)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklebomb/pseuds/frecklebombfic)




End file.
